Steve Smith has spent three decades in print magazines, a feat he puts down to sheer luck and obstinacy. For the past seven years, he’s been editor-in-chief of VISI, following stints at the helm of Sports Illustrated, CAR and Red Bull. He’s also written several sports biographies and collects vintage guitars, Italian bicycles, watches and more cycling kit than any one person could reasonably need. He talks bicycles, very long runs, Debbie Harry and the song he wants played at his memorial.
What’s the best book you’ve read in the last year and why?
Vuelta Skelter by British travel writer and gonzo cyclist Tim Moore. Because it taught me something I know very little about. It’s a book of three narratives … he tells the story of Spanish cyclist Julián Berrendero’s victory in the 1941 Vuelta a España (basically the Spanish version of the Tour de France), he traces the arduous 4,409km route himself, riding a vintage bicycle, and he tells the gruesome story of the brutal Spanish Civil War, the dark shadow within which the race took place. I know a lot about bicycles, but, like most of the world, I knew very little about Spain’s civil war and the subsequent Franco dictatorship. It was devastatingly bloody and divisive to the point that the only way the collective Spanish psyche has been able to cope is to not speak about it.
How do you keep fit?
As you will have picked up, I’m an enthusiastic cyclist … mountain bikes, gravel bikes, road bikes, vintage bikes. Which allows me to indulge my long-nurtured love of sports kit (my dad owned a sports shop), and I have both discipline- and era-specific cycling kit for each of those bikes, from baggy mountain bike apparel to modern aerodynamically tuned Lycra for the road and vintage wool when I’m pedalling one of my vintage Italian bikes. I have a lot of cycling kit. And then I’ve also taken up trail running in the last couple of years. “Unusual for a man of your age,” says my GP, rolling his eyes. I was delighted to find out just how much kit you need to run 40-plus kilometres over mountains.
What’s your go-to restaurant for a low-key weeknight meal?
Maria’s Greek Café on Dunkley Square in Gardens. We’ve literally been going for decades — my partner and I worked there together as students, we go for quick midweek meals, and it’s hosted many a milestone family dinner. Our daughter had her 21st there. Sitting outside on the old square on a summer’s night, under the trees, eating and listening to the buzz of your fellow diners is to be transported to a joyful Greek village square.
What artwork will you always love and why?
We have a lithograph by English Modernist Barbara Hepworth. From her 1970/1971 Aegean Suite series, it was inherited and is much treasured. Hepworth was first and foremost a sculptor, so the print reflects her sculptural approach to form and space in a two-dimensional medium like a lithograph. I love the simplicity of the composition with its simple black lines and circles on a vibrant yellow background. For many years we’ve collected Mid-Century Modern furniture, ceramics and art … this is the prized piece.
Do you have a hobby? What is it?
Broadly, I think it’s best described as “collects vintage stuff”. Apart from the M-CM fascination mentioned above, I’ve also ended up with a collection of vintage guitars, Italian bicycles, watches, fountain pens, hi-fi components and vinyl, and clothes. I’ve also owned the odd classic car over the years, but I think I’m done with that.
What’s the one unusual item you can’t live without?
Strictly speaking, this isn’t really an item, but I can’t think of anything that I’ve both used as much and derived such great benefit from over the last couple of years as the The Rest Is History podcast. It’s educational, clever, peppered with humour and really insightful in understanding the ginormous sociopolitical mess the world finds itself in. English academics Tom Holland and Dominic Sandbrook take you on an odyssey of human history, from serious stuff like the fall of the Roman Empire to the rise of Adolf Hitler, and throw in the odd left-field episode like “The Top 10 Disastrous Parties”. They’ve done over 700 episodes now, and having listened to most of them, it turns out history does in fact repeat itself. Often. We’re a very predictable species … and things are not looking good at the moment. But we all know that.
Who was your high school celeb crush?
I’m embarrassed and, with hindsight, very remorseful to admit that for much of high school I was way more interested in chasing a tennis/cricket/soccer ball than I was girls. However, a certain lead vocalist for the band Blondie did serve to pause my sporting pursuits. Debbie Harry’s platinum blonde looks and alternative sensibilities were a very formative influence on both my taste in music and the opposite sex.
Three songs you’d take to a desert island?
For me, like great art, great music reveals itself over time. It requires some work on the part of the listener to discover its melody and its soul. And the reward is that you will never get tired of listening to it (which is what you want from a record if it’s one of only three you are going to be listening to for the foreseeable future). So here are my three:
Blue in Green by Miles Davis, off his masterpiece album Kind of Blue. Miles is accompanied by jazz giants Bill Evans, John Coltrane, Paul Chambers and Jimmy Cobb on a track that is quiet, reflective and a bit melancholic. It’s the song I want played at my memorial. It’s such a deeply beautiful and moving piece of music. (The next two songs are a lot more cheerful.)
Life During Wartime by Talking Heads. Of all the 1980s alternative bands I grew up with, these New Yorkers have consistently occupied my turntable. It’s hard to choose a favourite song, but I figure you’d want at least one track to dance to, and this one captures all of David Byrne’s nervous energy and scratchy guitar underpinned by Tina Weymouth’s driving bass rhythms.
Besides … singing “This ain’t no party, this ain’t no disco, this ain’t no fooling around” at the top of your voice strikes me as a healthy dose of therapeutic pragmatism when stuck on a desert island.
Papa Was a Rollin’ Stone by The Temptations. There are two reasons for picking this one. It has hands-down the most badass funky bass intro ever recorded. Add to that layers of simmering violins, squelchy wah-wah guitar and soaring horns … and if that all doesn’t get your head nodding then there’s no hope for you. The other reason is that it’s part of an early memory I hold very dear. It’s 1972, I’m six and my single-parent, 25-year-old mom and I are living in a ground-floor flat in Benoni. This was one of her favourite records, and I vividly remember her dancing to it in our small lounge. And ... as an extra bonus … the song is 12 minutes long (that intro alone lasts four minutes), so you’re getting good value, which is great given you’re only allowed to take three records.
